


Light of Your Life, Apple in Your Eye

by Silberias



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Ned gets Robert to back down because of reasons, Oberyn has a tender ickle heart, Sansa is aged up, Soul Bond, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, hahahah Ned doesn't go South what kind of nuts are you?, no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oberyn Martell has gone so long without meeting the woman whose name he wears, and he has watched the pain and folly of so many other fated couples, that he's of the mind that whoever <i>Sansa</i> is she is better off without him. At least until he receives a letter from Ned Stark, telling of a little girl with <i>Oberyn</i> on her hand. // Oberyn/Sansa Soulmates!AU prompt from montygreeness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I read that one Stannis/Sansa soulmates fic it has intrigued me a bit, but then I got the prompt over on tumblr so I kind of had to write my own take on it then. Some quick terms: soul-light instead of soulmate because I'm that sort of person who messes about with things, briefly stole the idea of 'gift from the gods' from the other author, and yeah. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Oberyn had always thought he was to marry a Dornishwoman. From when he'd been very young and learning his letters along with the history and culture of Dorne he had known it. On the back of his right hand was a woman's name written in a maester's script as it would be on her nameday. Somewhere there was a woman with his name upon her hand--it had excited him as a boy and a youth, until it had started to become apparent that all of the _Sansas_ that he met wore other names. They wore names such as Alysanne, Olyvar, Artur, Qarla, Harlyn, but never _Oberyn_.

So he had decided that perhaps she was not Dornish, and began traveling the world--and then in the midst of his travels his sister married the man who wore her name. Elia had been fated to marry the Crown Prince since her childhood, for not even the Targaryens were so craven as to ignore the gods' gift. He'd been happy for her, genuinely, and his flagging hopes of finding his Sansa had been renewed by seeing Elia's joy. He might someday have that himself, and somehow he would feel as incandescently happy as his sister and brother.

But then had come the war, his sister's death, and then Mellario had left Doran--and Dorne. It had broken his heart and Oberyn had decided that the best course was to avoid meeting his dear Sansa. His sister's husband had meant her death, his brother's wife had only met heartbreak upon coming to Dorne. So he made light of the writing on his hand and spent his time with women and men who shared his disillusionment with the soul-light of the gods. He trailed bastards behind him, and, though he took responsibility for each of them, tried to forget the twinge in his heart when he caught sight of those five innocent letters.

Some maesters believed that sometimes the soul-light was met only once, in earliest childhood or at a great age--a tragic but rare occurrence that explained Oberyn's own situation. He hated it and despite the lifestyle he adopted he fiercely rejected the idea that his doting parents would have allowed a Sansa bearing his name to escape them, and it hurt him too deeply to think that he would not meet her until it was too late to make a life with her.

And then there was a letter from Ned Stark--honorable Eddard Stark. They'd not heard from him since he and one of his bannermen had left Dorne with the bones and bastard of Lady Lyanna Stark. It was a well-known story across the realm, tragic and educating at once--two men deciding to love a woman who wore a different name, and her decision to love one of them back. It was said that Lord Eddard openly raised the bastard as Lady Lyanna's trueborn son.

The letter, though, spoke nothing of Lady Lyanna, Prince Rhaegar, or their bastard boy. Rather it spoke of a five year old girl and the name _Oberyn_ on her left hand, starting at her wrist and reaching halfway down her pointer finger. It spoke of a forlorn hope that perhaps Oberyn wore the name _Sansa_ , for otherwise Ned Stark's wife fully intended on making the girl wear a glove the rest of her life. They had searched through the North, Vale, and Riverlands since the child's birth, and it had become an obsession of Lady Stark to find the girl's match.

It sent a chill down his spine as he read that Ned's wife intended to ensure the girl would not speak out against who the gods had chosen for her, filling her head with notions of fate and duty. The war had taken many fated lovers from one another, the loss of their other halves paving the way for political marriages to take place--or in the case of Fat King Robert and his Queen righting what had been wronged. Oberyn well understood that Lady Catelyn wanted for her daughter the fairytale that she herself had been deprived of, but memories of his brother and sister taught him caution.

Ultimately his daughters urged him to write back to Lord Stark and he obeyed them, staring at how the letters stretched and bent on his hand as he wrote. It was a cruel trick that he'd lived twenty seven years without her, and would have to live apart at least another ten on top of that. If she even wanted a man so much older, he thought with a bitter smile as he signed his name at the bottom of the letter. In it he expressed hopes that Lord and Lady Stark would allow their daughter to grow as she would.

He would visit as they wished, and send gifts on her namedays, but otherwise he wished little Lady Sansa to be happy. If the specter of a man twenty two years her senior made her unhappy, he went on to say, then he would respect that and allow her love with a man her own age should she find one. As he watched the raven fly away, later, he sent up a prayer that Lady Catelyn would follow his wishes.

* * *

 

Sansa was excited to finally meet her betrothed, Prince Oberyn. Since she'd been about ten she had received gifts from him, just small trinkets and books, and in recent years he had sent her letters on occasion. He was kind to her, and though there were months between letters he earnestly listened to her. As he had when King Robert had tried to force her father into wedding her to Crown Prince Joffrey just after her thirteenth nameday. She'd written him in a panic, not wanting to marry Joffrey who she'd heard was arrogant and prone to fits of madness _and did not wear her name_ , and soon enough two letters had arrived from Sunspear--one for her, and one for her parents.

The letter for her had been comforting and consoling, and it had allayed her fears readily. The letter addressed to her father had been more serious. It had stated an intent to press his bond on Sansa with a formal betrothal, and should that not make the King step down, a proxy marriage would be conducted with all haste and she be sent to Sunspear on the next ship from White Harbor. It had been a tense few weeks, but ultimately King Robert had decided to pursue other options for his son's bride.

Now she was to meet the man who had rescued her from King Robert's mad son, a man whose name had been on her hand since before she could remember. She knew vaguely what he looked like, for he had sent her a portrait of himself when she had celebrated her fourteenth nameday. She'd sent him her own portrait when her father had formally announced their betrothal, thinking it only right that he know what she looked like should anyone ask him.

His portrait had shown his skin to be dark, as was apparently common in his family, and he had a hawkish nose above an elegantly shaped mouth. His eyes looked dark and glittering, and Sansa had often wondered if that was true in life. She had hung his portrait in the small solar that had been made hers upon her betrothal to him, and looked at it often when she composed letters to him or worked on sewing her maiden cloak and other items for her wedding chest.

"Lady Sansa? The Martell host will arrive within the hour and Lady Stark asks you to join her in her solar," one of the serving girls said gently through the door. Sansa called back that she would be there soon, grabbing up the few pieces of jewelry that Prince Oberyn had sent her since their betrothal when she was nearly four and ten. A hair net worked in steel and copper, a single pearl drop pendant smaller than the tip of her pinky, a ring that only fit on her thumb, and a copper chain belt tipped with turquoise--her mother had fretted that there were not more gifts, but her father had said that the Prince did not want to overwhelm her or make her feel she owed him anything.

Her mother had scowled at the words but only for a moment, and Sansa had always given their argument a wide berth. She did not quite understand the root of it, only that neither Mother nor Father wore each other's names on their hands. Sansa instead tried to keep her mind focused on the one who the septon said was to light up her soul as no other would.

Sansa worried the ring on her thumb as she walked, fingers touching the cool onyx stone that adorned it. What if her prince did not find her suitable? Or thought her too young--that he would not attempt to get to know her, for certainly he had been distant from her all her life. The other worries were that perhaps he was ungallant, that his letters were composed for him by another as she'd heard was done sometimes in the King's court. That _she_ would find him lacking--that there were more differences than mere age and origin between them that were too big to get around.

When she sat down in her mother's solar she pressed her mouth shut so as not to speak out of turn. Lady Catelyn had wanted her to be raised in complete obedience with the Faith's prescription that those whose souls were joined by the gods never deviate from that path save dire emergency--and only in recent years had Sansa learned the wisdom of her father, Lord Eddard, in counseling Sansa against such complete obedience. If she found a love of her own Prince Oberyn would let her pursue it so far as it was wise her father had told her.

"We must remember that Prince Oberyn is such only in title, Sansa," her mother began, gently taking the hair net from her fingers and braiding her hair so to neatly catch it up in the metal net, "and his addresses are 'Prince,' and 'my lord.' I would have you act as a demure lady, not as you do with your sister or your cousin Jon. You will be happy making a life with Prince Oberyn, despite the difference in your age the gods have decreed you share one soul."

"Mother, it has not been decided that we will wed on this visit," Sansa replied, a blush coloring her cheeks as it usually did when people brought up the age of her soul-light. They embarrassed her on purpose by making her share her thoughts on it, as though she could be a judge on the will of the gods at the age of nine and ten. As though she could be the judge of a man she'd never met.

Once her mother had fixed her hair and helped her put on the pendant. She resisted fidgeting with the copper belt as she and her mother walked down to the courtyard where everyone else waited for the Dornishmen to come riding in. It wasn't going to be long to wait and Sansa schooled herself against bouncing on her toes. It was unseemly at any age but especially as she neared her twentieth year. She flinched when the horns blew, dropping the end of the belt as she'd been threading it through her fingertips.

They wore orange, red, shimmering yellow, and sandy pink as they rode in to the gates of Winterfell. At the head of the party rode two people, one holding the banner of House Martell, and the other one could be no other than Prince Oberyn. She lowered her eyes self-consciously when his glance fell on her, sinking into a curtsy as her father introduced her after her brother Robb.

"You must be tired from riding, my steward Poole will show you to your quarters," her father said after introducing Rickon, but Prince Oberyn was walking towards Sansa to take her hand. She'd never sent him drawings of his name on her hand, but he pressed a soft kiss on the last letter of his name unerringly despite the covering of her glove. She knew the songs were exaggerating that when you met your soul-light you felt a fire consume your heart but at the same time Sansa's pulse raced. He was very handsome, shorter than the Northmen she'd grown up around but still a hand taller than her.

"May I share a walk with Lady Sansa? I would stretch my legs and she could acquaint me with the layout of the keep." She couldn't help the smile that split her lips open, glancing up at her parents as she did so. For once it was her father who looked eager and her mother hesitant--it was as though Lady Catelyn just now realized that a man grown was so tied to her daughter. Unconsciously she tightened her slight grip on Prince Oberyn's fingers.

"Robb and I will walk with them, Uncle," Jon spoke up. King Robert had avoided war with her father Lord Eddard by allowing Jon to be raised up as a Stark and not a Snow, recognized by all around that he was the son of Lady Lyanna Stark. The fact that his parents had defied the gods was punishment enough, it was decided. Her prince was smiling at Jon's words, a rakish gleam to his eyes as he drew her out of the line of the family and tucked her hand at his arm.

The older boys fell in behind them at a few paces while Poole and the other servants guided the small Dornish party to their rooms. Sansa felt the jewelry he'd given her begin to weigh a dozen pounds a piece--did he think her silly to wear what he'd given her? Did he remember? Had he treasured her letters as she'd begun to treasure his? Was it all a girlish fantasy?

"Do you have the ring I sent you?" his tone was conspiratorial, even though Robb and Jon were far enough behind it would be hard for them to overhear.

"Yes, it's on under my glove. Do you--do you have the twist of hair I sent?" she hesitated, a hot anxiety welling in her chest as they walked. He chuckled softly, squeezing her hand gently as he did so.

"I was surprised by the color, Lady Sansa. The one who painted your picture did no justice to it, and I was glad to know you were real. Far from me, but real."

* * *

 

He dreaded telling her of himself, in truth, for he saw in her eyes that she had an idea of him in her head--and he was soon to rip it all to shreds. Oberyn did wonder how her parents had kept certain facts about him away from her ears, but he did appreciate that he would be able to tell her himself. So few people in this world met him with uncolored opinions. They walked to an unbroekn patch of snow in the godswood and settled down on his cloak. The Stark boys kept their distance, talking lowly between themselves.

"Lady Sansa, do you know when I first knew of you--that you were real? That the gods had finally sent you?" She flushed prettily, looking at her hands as she did but she nodded eventually. He had been seven and twenty--even older than she was now. A man approaching the middle of his life even then. He took one of her hands between his, pressing them gently.

"I'm just so happy you've finally come--it's been a lifetime without you," she said softly. He remembered when he'd been her age he'd been heartbroken over the entire idea of someone to share his soul and life with. Oberyn did not want to tell her, but all honor demanded it. The sweet, beautiful woman next to him would be incredibly sad--she would send him away, right as they finally might have one another.

"I am afraid I dishonored you before you were even born, my lady, and some of my daughters are older than you. Bastards all, like your poor cousin but with none of his special circumstance. Have Lord or Lady Stark told you of this?"

"I know a little. My father explained it--most highborn people find each other when they are young, and you had lost so much..." she trailed off, rubbing one finger on the heel of his palm. The sunlight made her hair glow, and her eyes were a beautiful blue that reminded him of sapphires.

"There are some who say to me that that is little excuse, yet balk when I tell them your age. A strange world we live in, I think."

"Would you cast them out? Your bastard girls?" Suddenly all the cold of the North flooded into him as he glanced at the young woman next to him. She was staring him down and Oberyn swallowed back wanting to make her like him. He was not a likeable man if examined in harsh lighting. Today was a sunny day in the North, there was little that was harsher light than a sunny day in the North.

"No, I would never. They are innocent of my actions, and nothing would persuade me to betray them." Her broad smile at that meant he'd passed some sort of test, for she settled in against his shoulder then and smiled up at him when he put his arm around her back. All of his daughters had told him she wouldn't possibly hate him--that the gods had gotten it wrong if Sansa couldn't find it in her heart to forgive him his heartbreak.

"The septon, and Mother, said you would because they were an offense to what the gods have given us--I didn't believe it. We've the blood of the First Men in us, even you, and blood is stronger than the gift of the Seven. They are your blood, just as Jon is my aunt Lyanna's blood."

It was far too soon, they hardly knew one another save from letters over the last few years and innocent gifts such as necklaces and rings, but Oberyn felt this a perfect moment to ask her. He wanted to take her someplace secret and get to know her, know every bit of her that hadn't ever made it to Dorne in her letters.

"Will you come south with me? To Dorne?"

"As your wife?"

"If you'll have me for a husband."

She leaned a little away from him, looking up at him speculatively. She was a lovely and beautiful woman, but there was a spark in her that was intriguing to him. It had been so long since he'd had a companion, someone to share his bed and his worries with. Slowly, so she could stop him if she wanted to, he reached out a hand and smoothed the blade of his thumb along her brow, dropping down to her cheek and repeating the motion, and finally tilting her chin up so he could kiss her.

Just a soft press of his mouth to hers at first, then again, and then she pushed her lips to his on her own after that. Soon enough she had somehow crawled up into his lap, twisting her fingers in his hair as she went. The cold of the air around them, the snow beneath his cloak, her brother and cousin standing in sight-range, all of it was forgotten in the midst of the heat they shared and the zing of cold air on lips made wet by kisses.

"I think I will have you," she said, curling her head into his neck as her kin saw what they were doing and started shouting--a voice just like Rhaegar Targaryen's cutting through the air with _oi--you mad Dornish bastard!_ signalling an end to their innocent little tryst.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there were a bunch of people who wanted more of this story so I wrote this up...I hope you like it!

Their betrothal had made her a woman-grown in the eyes of her mother and the other ladies that came to Winterfell, he realized as they later shared a meal in her solar. It was on the corner of one of the wings, a few long and narrow windows letting the pale spring light into the room, and the servants that brought them their food stood far at the back of the room as technical chaperones. They were one in everything but the eyes of the law and so it mattered little if they were alone together or not--it was more a matter of decorum and etiquette than anything else.

He brought sugar-cured lemons with him, the stiff pieces sweet and tart, and she had delighted at the gift. Lemons were a favorite of hers--lemoncakes being a strong weakness she admitted with a blush. There were still lemons growing in Dorne after the Winter but none of good enough quality to bring with him to the North but soon she would have all the tartfruits she could desire. Oranges, lemons, limes, tangerines, pomegranates.

Oberyn sent word to Sunspear that he would be staying on a few months at Winterfell to allow for wedding preparations to be made--and after that contented himself with trips out exploring the lands near Winterfell or with spending afternoons with Sansa. She had gotten a book for him, located and brought to her by the maester of Winterfell, and read aloud from it as they sat together--his head in her lap, her fingers threading through his hair as she held the small book with one hand. Once in a while he would grasp her hand and kiss her knuckles, wedding his fingers with hers to lay on his chest.

As the weeks drew closer to the date that Lord Eddard had set for their wedding he found himself more and more engaged by others--taken away from her as seamstresses from White Harbor helped her finish fitting the wedding dress she'd sewn herself. It was heavily embroidered, from the few glimpses he'd caught, though he never was able to make out the patterns he did see that it was finely fitted in a classic style--a wide scooped neck, the dagged sleeves only inches from trailing the ground, a circlet of virgin's pearls sewn to the waist where the bodice met the skirts. It made his heart beat faster and left his mouth dry, thinking on his colorful youth compared to her sweet innocence.

Oberyn understood then that the Gods had given him her name because without her he would have put himself in an early grave--through drink or fighting or melancholy, he would not have survived to see thirty let alone forty. There was little mystery about why she wore his name--she was destined to marry a prince and live her days in idyllic happiness, and princes were few on the ground in Westeros of late.

Just days before the wedding, less than a full seven, a parcel from Sunspear arrived attached to a raven's leg. It was oval in shape, wrapped tightly in oil cloth, and when Oberyn untied it he grinned at what he found. One of his mother's many opal necklaces lay on the cloth, the gem winking reds and blues and greenish white up at him from the setting of gold. The jewel was the diameter of a plum, and the chain it was on would leave it sitting right below the wearer's collarbone. Sansa had told him, months ago on that first day together, that for her wedding she preferred a necklace over a ring so long as he did not mind and when he'd written to Doran he had asked for an appropriate jewel to satisfy his soul-light. He already knew that the onyx ring he'd given her would be his once more.

At the breakfast on their wedding day he dined alone with Lord Eddard and his sons--having sent one of his knights to deliver his gift of a Myrrish lace shawl to Sansa where she breakfasted with her mother and other ladies. He'd gotten to know Sansa's family over the last few months and he liked them--her brother Robb was an accomplished rider and swordsman, her brothers Bran and Rickon both well on their way also. Jon, the nephew Rhaegar Targaryen had given to Lord Eddard rather than Oberyn and his brother, was quiet and serious. Though the meal was quiet it had a certain sense of peace that he rather enjoyed.

The Starks had a small Sept, for the Light of the Seven was not widely followed until very recently in the North, and as he stood with Sansa between the statues of the Mother and Father he couldn't help but appreciate the intimacy allowed them. Aside from his fellow Dornishmen he was given queer looks when he spoke of his betrothed and today of all days he did not want to be fodder for gossip. Sansa, in her white dress and grey cloak, trembled slightly when he stepped behind her to remove her maiden cloak--replacing it with his own bright one of Martell orange.

Their vows were quickly spoken and her lips were soft when he kissed them. As was a tradition in the North, their hands remained fasted through the wedding supper to symbolize their unity. The septon allowed them to hold hands to be more comfortable as he'd tied the white ribbon around their wrists. Sansa was warm at his side as they walked through the snowy courtyards from the sept towards the great hall were a feast would be held.

                                                                                      

* * *

      

Sansa grinned when Oberyn attempted to steal her away once the celebration got going--only to be caught by her mother Lady Catelyn. Her mother had tears in her eyes as she stood between them and the small hallway they'd planned on escaping from, the party behind them loud with happiness, and Sansa curled into her new husband's side as Lady Catelyn seemed to inspect them.

"She thinks otherwise, but she is just a girl, Prince Oberyn," she finally said as she stepped aside for them. For a moment Oberyn did not move, though his eyes followed her movements. Sansa glanced between these two, hoping they did not start to hate one another somehow. Especially now.

"Lady Stark you have raised a woman who is kind and graceful, intelligent and sweet. You see a girl because you helped pull her milk teeth, taught her to sew and dance--but I saw none of this. I see only the woman she's grown into right under your nose, a woman that I will treasure until the Gods take me from her." Sansa covered her wedding necklace with one hand. It lay heavy just at her clavicle, but had long since warmed to her skin. She loved it already, and bit her lips when her mother's eyes fell on the pendant.

Lady Catelyn twitched a smile then, though her face soon settled back to worry when it faded. Behind them the party roared in a different direction as someone called for the bride and groom to be found and sent to their bedding. Shouts rang out as everyone asked where they were, building as they realized that she and Oberyn had already slipped away somehow.

"Now, though, Lady Stark," Oberyn took a few steps down the hallway towards the chamber that had been prepared for them, "I do not want to break a man's jaw on my wedding night--especially in front of my dear wife. May we escape?" Her mother nodded, accepting a kiss on her cheek from Sansa before they went on their way.

In their bedchamber Sansa picked up her skirts and dashed towards the bed while Oberyn locked and bolted the door. They had spoken a little of what they each might like to happen tonight and she eagerly awaited what lay in store--the entire point of locking the chamber door was so that no one might disturb them until they so chose. She was especially glad that Oberyn was Dornish, too, for the Dornish did not believe marriage to be sealed with virgin's blood. If her will to have him failed her he would not force her.

"Would you really have broken someone's jaw?" she asked as he shed his robe and the open vest he wore beneath it. Setting these neatly on one of the chairs Oberyn glanced at her in that playfully reproving way of his, as though the answer were plain as day. Sansa grinned, laughing behind her hand.

"Wrinkled Crone--you _would_ have!" Outside a few shouts of disappointment made themselves known as the guests realized their primary entertainment had been deprived them.

"Only if it had been necessary," he said, sitting on the bed next to her before drawing her in for a kiss, "and I would have let you bandage my bruised knuckles if it makes you feel better about the notion," he added with a nip of a kiss at her lower lip. They hadn't had much time for kissing of late and Sansa threaded her fingers into his hair to keep him close, savoring how he kissed her like she was water in the desert. She lay back, taking him with her and basked in his heated kisses down her throat. He had courted her well and sweetly over the last several months--all of his attention affirming for her that the Gods had chosen well for her. She hoped he felt the same.

"You are perfect my darling," he murmured, his mouth now hovering just over hers as he looked down his nose into her eyes. One hand cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping over the apple while his fingertips spread over her ear. Sansa scratched her nails a little into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently tugging his head this way and that. He chuckled, bumping his nose against hers.

"Now, you have to let me up--I won't have you tear this dress, I intend to pass it on to your daughters if they'll have it." Oberyn rolled away from her and kissed her hand before she got up once more, standing to follow her once she got free of the bedsheets. He asked her to step next to the table where he quickly lit the candles, his skin glowing copper in the light.

"May I see the embroidery? I admit I've been fascinated with it for most of the day, but unable to examine it much," he said, catching her by the hand and twirling her around for a moment. He knelt before her, his dark eyes alight with interest as she explained the designs she'd spent months working on. There were suns bursting rays of spears and wolf's teeth, snakes winding about scorpions, and leaping fish amidst symbols for the Seven, each of them represented in the finest golden, orange, and blue threads on the silver fabric. Seed pearls outlined each of the seven panels on the skirt of the gown, and the circlet of virgin pearls covered the seam between skirt and bodice.

Sansa held her breath as Oberyn touched the center pearl, the one meant to pull out the ribbons of her bodice and open the dress. He leaned in to kiss it and she swore she felt his warmth on her skin through the layers of fabric.

"Take it," she whispered, her heart racing as she looked down into his glittering eyes. Goosebumps raised up on her arms as the ribbons first cinched and then let the fabric of her dress fall open, her breasts tingling at being freed from the constricting garment. She'd begged her mother to let her forego a corset in hopes of this very moment, standing in front of her soul-light in only her shift.

"You honor me," he finally replied, kissing the pearl when it was finally free and setting it reverently aside on the table. As he stood up once more he parted the bodice and slid it down her shoulders, his fingertips dancing at the knots holding her skirts up.

"When you want me to stop, tell me?" The questioning quirk of his eyebrow was something she would never tire of. It was sweet and earnest and full of mischief all at once.

"Of course," she replied, stepping out of her skirts when he finally untied the knots and walked her back to the bed. She sat next to him, combing the braids out of her hair as he took off his boots. There was a certain easiness between them that had been settling in ever since his first day in Winterfell. He was her prince from a fairy story, a song, she thought as he finished undressing and she pulled her shift off and got under the covers.

They lay in bed for a long time, kissing and touching until her lips felt raw and her skin aflame. Sansa got over her shyness and let herself do more than sigh at everything. Oberyn had clever fingers, teasing her sex eventually. It was strange, laying with him curled up at her side and his fingers sliding in and out of her while his other arm cradled under her shoulders. Though when she turned her face searching for his lips he gave them over easily, his breathing coming as hard as hers as she whimpered that she needed him.

The candles were burning low and the room was very dim when he settled between her thighs, his kisses langorous now as he pressed his cock into her. Oberyn groaned out praises and sweetness as she trembled, her legs clutching at his hips. She breathed in the scent of his sweat, her nose buried in the crook of his neck as she moved with him. It was uncomfortable, nearly a little painful, but wonderful at the same time.

"Sweet girl, my lover," he said as he rocked against her, "my _wife_." She squeaked then, the sound embarrassing more than anything though it made him laugh and kiss her, asking if she liked that. Sansa could only nod and moan. She whispered words of love when she could and Oberyn kissed away the tears that fell when she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Never let me go," she mumbled when they'd sated themselves and he'd gathered her up in his arms.

"Let go of my darling wife?" he asked into her hair, his voice husky, "never. _Never_."

 

* * *

 

Oberyn slept lightly through the night, waking when Sansa would shift against him or roll away. Once he'd even opened his eyes to meet hers in the dimness, and she'd quietly asked if he would make love to her again. It had been no chore to obey her wishes, losing himself in her touches and loving words. Hopefully whoever shared walls with their bedchamber slept deeply, he'd thought after an accidental shout as he came. Or that they at least forgave a newlywedded couple their excesses.

When morning came he was still drowsy, waking up to his wife drawing invisible pictures on his chest with her pointer finger. Her breasts pillowed softly against his side, the nipples just barely puckered. Gods he'd missed having a woman in his bed, and this one was certainly a catch. Her copper red hair tumbled out across the pillows, gentle waves that had tangled from their night together, and her blue eyes were the picture of innocence.

"Writing letters to your children, there, my love?"

"No, drawing their faces," she jested in return. Those big blue eyes changed in their gaze then and prompted a similar change in him.

"And what do they look like?"

"They've got your nose, your smile, except for the youngest who you will dote on because he looks like me." He took her hand and kissed where his name appeared there, then turned it over to press his lips to her palm.

"How many?"

"Three," she said with a mischievous flick of a grin. Oberyn threw his head back on the pillow and laughed.

"Three? You know I've already eight girls, or have you forgotten?" She flicked his nose reprovingly, a playful frown decorating her sweet lips.

"Yes, four or five would be too many and I do not want only one or two." Oberyn pulled her close, turning on his side to hold her better, and threaded his fingers through her hair a little to get it out of her face.

"As my lady commands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought and thank you THANK YOU so much for taking time to read it!

**Author's Note:**

> How did you like it? Please let me know! I'm excited to hear what you think!


End file.
